


praise the white-handed queen

by violetdivinity



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, PWP, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 04:31:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetdivinity/pseuds/violetdivinity
Summary: Being with Victor, Oswald learns, is all about problem solving.Or, a shameless PWP of Oswald and Victor spending a quiet evening together, courtesy of Ivy’s magical, temperature-raising tea.





	praise the white-handed queen

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title taken from "Rain" by The Birthday Massacre.

_Praise the white-handed queen_  
_The gold and the green I give to her_  
_From this broken heart_

 

Being with Victor, Oswald learns, is all about problem solving.  When Oswald discovered that cuddling up to Victor left him chilled to the bone, thanks to the opening in Victor’s suit, he expanded his wardrobe to include heavier coats and scarves to shield him from the cold.  Likewise, Victor stocked his ice fortress with thick, plush blankets for Oswald to cocoon himself in when he visits, allowing Victor to wrap his bare arms around Oswald and hold him close.

For a while, simply leaning against and cuddling each other suffices.  More than suffices, really.  Even pressed up against the side of a living, breathing ice cube of a man, Oswald finds his blood running warm whenever he’s around Victor, cheeks turning a soft rose from more than just the cold.  Oswald doesn’t know what to call this _thing_ they have, but he’s rapidly becoming addicted to the chemical blue glow of Victor’s eyes and their late night heart-to-heart talks that leave them both feeling just a little less lonely.  He doesn’t know what they have, only that it somehow became something more than just taking comfort with another person; this nameless thing is precious and rare, and Oswald finds himself not wanting to let it go.

So the day comes when Oswald wants _more t_ han just blanketed cuddles and Victor’s gloved hand running across the small of Oswald’s back when they stand beside each other.  Thus, they’re presented with their biggest problem yet: how to properly touch each other without Victor overheating or Oswald dying from hypothermia.  It’s not a problem Oswald knows how to solve himself.

Thankfully, there’s Ivy.

***

No matter how many times they do this, watching the effects of Ivy’s special herbal tea on Victor is thrilling.  

They’re sitting on the couch in Oswald’s mansion, the conversation having died down and replaced with a deep, gnawing hunger. Victor swallows the last of the tea and shoves the mug onto the coffee table in front of the couch, face scrunched up ( _“tastes like shit,”_ Victor complained the first time he tried it) as he smacks his lips in distaste.  Just like that, the herbs begin to work their magic. With an almost childlike glee, Oswald watches as Victor’s skin takes on a pinker hue – still ethereally pale, but distinctly warmer looking, inviting to the touch (and oh, how Oswald yearns to _touch)_.  The neon blue of his eyes turns a shade darker, and the glowing blue veins on his face fades, though neither disappears completely.  There’s still that supernatural spark to his eyes and the now pale-blue veins still streak across his face that Oswald loves; a reminder that, like Oswald, Victor is _different_ , and no amount of magical, temperature-raising herbal tea can change that.

Victor stands and shucks off his suit, having no need for it now; at least, not until the tea wears off in another hour or so and his temperature drops again.  Oswald openly stares as Victor’s pale, chiseled body is revealed, inch-by-inch, layer-by-layer, all refined muscle.  Just like that, Victor sits back down, completely nude, and Oswald barely remembers to breathe as he drinks in the handsome sight before him.

Body acting of its own accord, Oswald lifts a slightly trembling hand and gently traces his fingers along the soft blue veins that run down Victor’s cheek and neck in slow, reverent caresses.  Victor’s cold and clammy to the touch, but there isn’t that painful, stinging bite that follows whenever Oswald usually touches Victor.  Oswald can’t help but to break into a smile, scarcely believing that he has this man beneath his hands, and that he’s wanted in return.  It’s a dizzying thought, and Oswald has to swallow down a wave of emotion that threatens to pull him under and drown him.

“What’re you smiling about?” Victor rumbles, leaning into Oswald’s hand, pressing a chilly kiss to his palm.

Cheeks flush, and Oswald gives a shake of his head that even he knows is unconvincing.  “Ah – nothing.”

“Uh huh.”

Victor captures Oswald’s slim wrist, drawing his hand up and brushing his lips across Oswald’s knuckles in a slow, sensual drag.  When Victor pauses and looks up to meet Oswald’s gaze, his eyes half-lidded and hazy with desire, Oswald’s mouth goes dry, familiar warmth curling at the base of his belly and flaring every which way.  

He _wants_.

And so he leans in, burying one hand in the white shock of Victor’s hair and the other curling against his neck, and drags Victor down into a searing kiss.  Victor responds in kind, cupping Oswald’s face as his cool tongue licks into Oswald’s mouth like he can’t get enough of him.  Oswald moans a broken, wanton sound into Victor’s mouth like he’s been dying for this, like it physically ached him not to have Victor’s hands on him as they kiss again and again, all wet glide of lips and gentle breaths in the otherwise quiet air.  

Oswald shifts forward, needing to be so much closer than they are – a need Victor does not deny him.  Big hands rest on Oswald’s hips, and after a bit of rearranging, Oswald sits astride Victor’s naked lap, groaning a little at the sight of Victor’s half-hard cock curled against his belly.  Victor leans in to steal another kiss, this one slower and less urgent, but no less filthy, and Oswald surrenders beneath Victor’s skilled lips and tongue, letting him take what he wants.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Victor murmurs against Oswald’s mouth, hands squeezing Oswald’s narrows hips until Oswald shudders.

“ _You_ should do something about that then,” Oswald says, playfully nipping Victor’s bottom lip, earning him a soft sound. As eager as Oswald is for more skin-to-skin contact, he’s going to make it _too_  easy; let Victor _work_ for this privilege.

Victor snorts, but complies.  As Victor starts pulling off Oswald’s coat and undoing his dress shirt, Oswald takes to tracing his lips along Victor’s jawline, tongue darting out here and there to get a taste.  Victor’s hands jolt when Oswald scrapes his teeth down his collarbone, shifting lower until he can roll one cold, pebbled nipple beneath his teeth. Victor hisses, all but ripping off the rest of Oswald’s shirt and tossing it to the ground.

“You’re beautiful,” Victor says, soft but sure, a quiet conviction that shakes Oswald to his core.  He’s glad to have his head lowered, concealing the flutter of his lashes and tremble of his lip as he greedily drinks in the given praise.

Oswald’s silence is apparently not enough for Victor, who runs his hands up Oswald’s exposed chest and then down his back, and Oswald arches into the touch with a mewl, head tilting backward and eyes fluttering shut as his lips part on a silent sound.

“Look at you,” Victor says, and Oswald squeezes his eyes shut tighter, feeling his cheeks warm again. “So pretty.”

Victor bestows feather-light, tender caresses against the ugly, mangled scar on Oswald’s gut, each touch against the marred flesh feeling like an apology and a rebirth, and Oswald can’t swallow back a pitiful sound in time.  The scar is too sensitive to touch for an extended period of time; just as soon as it starts, Victor turns his attention elsewhere, and Oswald’s soft sounds contort into a moan in appreciation when Victor rests his hands on Oswald’s backside, lightly squeezing.

“You get off on that, huh?  Hearing me tell you how gorgeous you are,” Victor says, and Oswald can practically hear the smirk in his voice, damn him.  Swallowing hard, Oswald wants to deny it and tell Victor that he’s flattering himself.  But then Victor is pulling him down harder onto his lap, rubbing his cock against Oswald’s straining erection still confined in his pants, and as Oswald gives a harsh cry, he knows he’ll confess to almost anything at this point.

“Victor –” Oswald groans, unsure if he means it as a warning to not push the issue or to keep going.  Victor takes it as the latter, firmly rutting up against Oswald, painting the crotch of his paints in a light trail of precome.

Victor surges up, kissing Oswald hard, who gives back just as good as he gets.  When they lean back in, they share less of a kiss and more a wet, hungry glide of lips against each other, a heady eroticism that has Oswald rocking his hips down in time to Victor’s thrusts.

“What do you want?” Victor drawls, words half-spoken into Oswald’s mouth as he swirls his hips in a way that has Oswald gasping, seeing stars. This is about to be over embarrassingly fast if they don’t slow down.

“You – just, all of you.  Now.”

Victor huffs out a laugh and something that sounds ridiculously close to _pushy_ , and then he’s gathering Oswald up in his strong arms, lifting him without a struggle (which, if Oswald is honest, is incredibly hot).  Oswald instinctively wraps his legs around Victor’s waist, arms hooking over Victor’s neck as he carries him in the direction of Oswald’s bedroom. All the while, Victor is pressing kisses against the side of Oswald’s head, murmuring words like _pretty thing_ and _gonna make you feel so good_ that has Oswald flushing down to his chest.

Once in the bedroom, Victor lowers Oswald down onto his bed with utmost care, like he’s something valuable to be cherished, and Oswald can only sink into the plush sheets with a happy sound.  Victor’s on him in a second, helping Oswald shimmy out of his pants and underwear until he’s on full display, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable.  It’s easy to be self-conscious in front of Victor, with all his sculpted lines like some kind of icy Adonis, while Oswald is smaller, soft around his belly and generally unimpressive.  But Victor never makes him feel that way; if anything, Oswald has never felt so wanted, so _desirable_ before.  The way Victor slowly rakes his appreciative, hungry gaze from Oswald’s feet up to his face, a fire burning in those haunting blue eyes, makes Oswald want to flush deeper, to tilt his hips up and tip his head back to give Victor a better look. So he does just that, putting himself on lewd display, and he can’t help but to flash a pleased little smile when Victor makes a choked off sound in want.  

Before Oswald can get too comfortable, Victor flips him onto his stomach, careful with his bad leg.  Victor drapes himself over Oswald, flush against his back, panting warm-cold air against Oswald’s ear.

“The things you do to me,” Victor all but groans, like whatever kind of spell Oswald has him under causes him pain.  

Oswald only hums and wiggles beneath Victor’s welcomed weight, smirking when Victor muffles a grunt against the nape of Oswald’s neck.

“Like what? Tell me.”

Oswald shivers as Victor starts to move, mouthing Oswald’s shoulder and then dropping lower, pressing kisses against the knobs of Oswald’s spine.

“You drive me wild,” Victor says, voice rough.  He moves lower, alternating between kisses and soft bites down on Oswald’s back. “You’re enchanting.”

Victor presses a firm kiss against Oswald’s tailbone, and then goes _lower_ still, and Oswald buries his face in the pillow, biting back a cry at just the thought of what’s to come.

“Too good for me, Oswald.  What did I do to deserve you?”

Before Oswald can reply and insist that if anything, it’s the other way around, Victor’s spreading his cheeks with those chilly, big hands of his and licking a long, slow stripe over Oswald’s hole.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Oswald sobs, voice pitching higher as he uselessly claws the blankets beside him, struggling for purchase.

Victor just laughs, a rough sound Oswald feels more than hears, and gets down to work.  He draws small, tight circles around Oswald’s quivering hole with a groan, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than here, face buried in Oswald’s ass as he gives Oswald wave after wave of pleasure.  The languid teasing ends just as it begins, and then Victor’s wriggling his tongue _inside_ Oswald, and Oswald can only muffle a cry into the pillows as Victor works him with his tongue, the cold sensation utterly divine.  No matter how many times Victor has him like this, Oswald is always overwhelmed by the intensity and intimacy of this act, body trembling from pleasure and need as he eagerly pushes back, trying to fuck himself on Victor’s tongue.  

When Victor withdraws, Oswald gives a disappointed groan and pushes back again, only to be met with air.

“Please, Victor,” Oswald begs, slurring Victor’s name in his haste to be fucked, to be so full he can’t even think.  Victor gently bites one of Oswald’s ass cheeks before lifting up, reaching for the bedside drawer.  Oswald can hear him blindly rustling around in the drawer before pulling out his prize – the small bottle of lubricant.  Burying his face into the pillow again, Oswald listens to the telltale click of the cap opening, followed by the wet sound of Victor slicking his fingers.  Oswald bites his bottom lip hard enough to bleed in an effort to prevent himself from begging to be fingered, settling instead for quiet groans as he shifts about, unable to keep still.

Then there’s the insistent press of one finger against his wet, loose hole, and Oswald pants out a heavy _yes_ when the finger breaches him.  Victor doesn’t waste time adding a second finger, and Oswald cants his hips back as Victor thrusts his fingers in and out, stretching him nicely.  It feels good, _too good_ , and throwing his dignity aside, Oswald lifts himself onto his hands and knees in order to properly fuck himself on Victor’s fingers, broken moans spilling from his lips.

“Bet I can make you come like this,” Victor says, sounding equal parts amused and aroused, and the thought of coming on Victor’s thick fingers alone makes Oswald whine.

“Probably,” Oswald concedes, voice already breathless as he struggles for composure, eyes nearly rolling back when Victor crooks his fingers just right.  “We should test that.  Another day though.”

Oswald shoves back against Victor particularly hard, as if to tell him to get on with it already.  He expects to be taken like this, and just as he anticipates being fucked roughly from behind, Victor surprises him by maneuvering Oswald onto his back.  Oswald blinks up at those hypnotic blue eyes, softly sighing when Victor lifts Oswald’s good leg by the back of his thigh and tucks it close to Oswald’s chest.

“I want to see you,” Victor says as way of explanation, and fuck, it ought to be a crime for how many times Victor can make him blush in one sitting.  Having someone know so many of his weaknesses can’t be healthy.  He of all people knows that.  

(But still, Oswald places his fragile, bleeding trust in Victor’s cold hands, hoping beyond belief that for once, he’s found someone who won’t betray it.) 

After slicking up his cock, Victor crawls back on top of Oswald, who scrapes his short fingernails up Victor’s biceps until Victor gives a tiny shiver.  Shifting, Victor rubs the head of his blue-white cock against Oswald’s wet hole onetwothree times, and only when Oswald _whines_ does Victor push inside in one slow, smooth thrust.

“Oh,” Oswald sighs, wriggling in place as he adjusts to Victor’s large girth, spearing him and leaving him pleasantly chilled.  It’s not cold enough to hurt, of course, Ivy’s tea made sure of that; but there’s an added level of cold sensation, a kind of temperature play Oswald didn’t know he’d find so exquisite.

Once adjusted, Oswald gives a brisk nod to Victor, who presses a quick kiss to Oswald’s cheek before pulling nearly all of the way out.  When he thrusts back in, hard and deep, both men groan at the resulting sparks of pleasure, an electric current that has Oswald clawing up Victor’s shoulders and clenching around his cock.  Victor starts a steady pace, fucking in deep, just like Oswald likes it, little _uh-uh-uhs_ all but punched out of him with each rough thrust.  It’s blissfully overwhelming, and Oswald feels torn between the heat of desire and the chill of Victor’s body over him and inside him, leaving him arching up against Victor and trying to meet his thrusts.  At one particularly well-aimed thrust, Oswald cries out loudly, trying to smother the sound by nuzzling into Victor’s neck.

“No,” Victor says, voice a near growl as he buries a hand in Oswald’s hair to gently pull him back so their eyes can meet. “Don’t hide.  Let me see you.”

Oswald chokes out another moan, head dropping back to the pillow as he arches his back, murmuring a quiet litany of Victor’s name and the occasion _don’t stop, harder, come on_.  Victor doesn’t relent, snapping his hips against Oswald’s as he gives him the pounding he begs for, until Oswald is nothing more but a writhing, groaning mess against the sheets.  

The world dwindles down to just him and Victor: the points where their bodies meet, the way Victor raggedly breathes against Oswald’s cheek, the way Oswald tugs Victor’s hair and feels so overcome with emotions that verge dangerously close to something beyond _affection_ , something Oswald is too scared to put a name to because he always loses the ones he loves, so if he doesn’t call it love, then maybe he can keep Victor like this, forever.

“Close,” Oswald manages to say, and only now is he aware of the wetness in his eyes, tears threatening to spill.

If Victor notices, he doesn’t say anything, just kisses Oswald for all he’s worth and wraps a hand around Oswald’s leaking cock, easily jerking him with the precome beaded at the tip, and when Oswald comes, it’s with a sob of Victor’s name against his lips.  Victor’s right there after him, thrusting haphazardly and hard for another ten seconds before he comes with a harsh groan that’s almost a roar.

They come down slowly, sharing heavy breaths as Victor kisses away the tears that track down Oswald’s cheeks.  Oswald just rubs at Victor’s back, trying to convey all the unsaid words between them.

“How much time before the tea wears off?” Oswald asks, attempting to conceal the hollow tone to his voice.  He’s not ready to give this up yet, not ready to put unfeeling clothes beneath their bare bodies again.

Victor cranes his head, looking at the clock on the bedside table. “Got another twelve minutes or so.”

Oswald smiles, a faint, pleased little expression as he wraps his arms more thoroughly around Victor, who’s already feeling a little colder.  

“Good,” he murmurs, preening a little when Victor presses a kiss into his fluffy, mussed up hair and curls around Oswald, as lovers do.


End file.
